


Chasing Boys 2

by sophinisba



Series: Chasing Boys [2]
Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Hand Job, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-22
Updated: 2007-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the invasion, Delilah decides she wants company.  (A sequel to Chasing Boys 1 but can be read independently.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Boys 2

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to absolutefiction for inspiring and betaing this.

Delilah had lots of hangers on in high school, and she liked it that way. It was flattering, whether they were football players like Stan who tried to act like they owned her (and fooled no one) or geeks like Casey who followed her around like puppy dogs. She knew how to use all of them to her advantage.

Delilah was always disdainful or indifferent to Casey when there were other people around. When it was just the two of them she wasn't exactly _kind_, but she gave him enough crumbs of attention to keep him hopeful and helpful. Casey took the best pictures of anyone on the newspaper or yearbook staff – which wasn't saying much, admittedly, but it made him valuable. He'd go wherever she told him to go and he always brought back the goods. In return she'd sometimes thank him. Occasionally she'd go into the darkroom while he was developing them. She liked to tease him by opening up an extra button on her shirt, revealing a little bit more skin just there. He wouldn't be able to see anything in the dark, but it made the atmosphere more interesting.

All of that seemed to be enough – if not to make him happy, at least to keep him faithful. And Delilah didn't feel bad about it. It wasn't like any of the other girls – or guys – were treating him any better.

Delilah didn't see him again that night, after the football game. She came to in the middle of the night, lying on her back on the yellow-striped blacktop, in between the school bus and the remains of Zeke's GTO, with a splitting headache and a dull memory of having said some things to Casey that she never, ever said out loud.

She walked home in a daze, her mind tripping slowly over the events of the afternoon and evening. She had a clear memory of Zeke lifting the blade of a paper cutter high over his head. A little after that things got blurry, but she knew she'd said and done things she never would, starting off with leaving the school in that particular company.

Delilah's mom wasn't drunk that night, just tired and even more confused than her daughter, since she hadn't seen it coming.

"Did you get that trouble with your friend sorted out?" she asked.

"What friend?" Delilah's voice sounded flat to her own ears, and that wasn't right, was it? She was supposed to be back to herself now.

"Some boy from school, I can't remember his name. Something happened yesterday, you said it was important. But then you're always worked up about something or other."

"Yeah," said Delilah. "Yeah, everything worked out okay."

At the time she had no idea whether things had worked out for him. After all, she wasn't the kind of girl to go back for some idiot who tripped and fell when she had more important things to think about, like saving her own skin.

Delilah went to bed and dreamed about aliens blowing up the White House, _Independence Day_ style. The next scene in her mind was a giant tidal wave that rose up over the same cities and monuments that the aliens had attacked, putting out all the fires and drowning the invaders along with the defenders. At the edge of dry land where the water splashed but didn't destroy she saw Casey Connor standing, looking out over the devastation with his face full of grief. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear him or speak to him because she was too far away. In the geography of dreams, she was seeing him from the height of the wave but she was really already gone, run far ahead away to the west.

The next day was Saturday, but even if it had been a school day she'd have stayed home, waiting for news. But the radio just played 80s music and the TV had cartoons and sitcoms. No news, good or bad. She tried calling Stan. His mom said he'd come home all right last night but he was gone now, and she might want to try calling Stokely Mitchell's house. Delilah decided she was done making phone calls.

The police showed up at her door in the afternoon and Delilah, who still wasn't thinking very clearly, thought _I've killed him. Casey's dead and they finally figured out it's my fault._

She considered lying and thought she could probably get away with it. It would be easier to make them believe Casey and Stokely were a couple of freaks who believed in conspiracy theories than to say that her last clear memory was of her teacher's severed fingers rushing toward her across the floor of the bio lab.

But she'd seen Casey in the hallway of the police station before they got taken into separate rooms, and he was alive but he looked scared, like he was done being playing his Sigourney Weaver part and just needed someone to rescue him for a change. And between last night's dream and Thursday's chase down the hallway and that quiet old memory of another chase that ended with Casey lying on his back with the wind knocked out of him, she just couldn't stand to abandon him again.

She told the agents everything she could remember from Thursday and Friday, and then she started telling the things she couldn't quite remember but that were in her head anyway somehow – the worms crawling under her skin, the commands she didn't understand but couldn't help obeying, the car ride back to the school where she joined up with the other cheerleaders and chanted for the Hornets to kill whoever stood against them.

"It wasn't one of the cheers we'd ever practiced," she said, "but it went off without a hitch."

Then she said, "I've told you everything I know and I'm only seventeen. You're not even supposed to be questioning me without my mom here," though she could've asked for her mom hours ago. She hadn't bothered.

They let Casey go at the same time. His parents were the only ones waiting out in the lobby. His mom hugged him for a long time and his dad was already walking out when she let him go.

"We need to give Delilah a ride," Casey said, "and we need to wait for Zeke. His parents are out of town, they won't be able to come get him."

"Zeke can take care of himself," said his dad. "He might not get out of there for hours and we need to get home."

Casey stood up straight the way she'd seen him do the night before, when she'd barely recognized him, but then she'd barely recognized herself at the time. She thought he was going to go heroic again and refuse to leave without Zeke, but all he said was, "Fine, but we have to leave him our phone number in case he needs us." Delilah was relieved and she thought Casey probably was too. It wasn't like either of them actually wanted to spend any more time hanging around at the police station.

When they got to her house Casey stepped out of the car and walked with her. At her door he stopped and hugged her, squeezing hard like he didn't want to let go, and that was when she broke down. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, "Casey, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Casey said, still holding her but giving her more room to breathe. "It's okay, it wasn't you. I never thought it was you."

_But it was_, she didn't say, she was the one who'd let him down all those times, ever since second grade, just because he wasn't the right kind of boy for the girl she thought she wanted to be. She leaned her head against his shoulder and didn't move or speak until she could get herself under control. "I haven't been this unhappy since my dad died." And she meant that, though she couldn't really understand why.

"Things are gonna be okay now," said Casey. He held her awkwardly but he didn't let go.

"Did they get you too, the aliens?"

"No. They didn't get me or Zeke."

"I'm sorry I –"

"It's okay," he said again. "It wasn't your fault. It's not like me and Zeke were any – Look, it's not your fault, okay? Do you want to come back to my place for a little while?"

"Please."

They held hands in the back seat and neither of them said anything to his parents. When they got to his house Casey called hers and left a message for her mom on the machine.

They went to his room and Casey sat in the chair by the computer. Delilah sat on his bed. Looking up, she saw herself in the mirror and in a dozen black-and-white photographs pinned on the bulletin board and the wall. She remembered being with him when he'd developed a few of them, she remembered laughing at how sweet and pathetic he was.

She looked down at her hands so she wouldn't stare at the pictures.

"Are you okay?" Casey asked.

"Not really." Her headache from the night before had never really gone away and now it was worse from the crying.

"Me neither."

"What did you tell the FBI?"

"The truth," he said quickly, but then hesitated. "As far as I could remember it, anyway."

"Hey, at least you were yourself the whole time. It'd be a lot harder to remember if you'd been... you know."

Casey shrugged. "They kept asking if I'd taken any drugs. I had to tell them yes. And I think that can be their excuse for, you know, whatever they want to say happened. I'm not a reliable witness because I could've just been hallucinating." He looked away. "And maybe they're right," he finally added.

"No," said Delilah. "I never took the drugs and I wasn't hallucinating. It happened and it was more fucked up than anything you could have dreamed up on your own. It was real, Casey."

He looked back at her and nodded, but she could tell he wasn't really convinced.

"It's..." She realized she didn't have a lot of practice with saying reassuring things. It was harder than the nice characters on TV made it look. "I think you're right. Things are going to be okay, even if we still feel pretty sucky right now. We probably just need to get some sleep."

"Okay," said Casey.

"Um, is it okay if I lie down here?" She moved as she spoke, knowing he wouldn't say no. It really felt good to rest her head on the pillow after this afternoon.

"Yeah. I guess I'll um..."

"Stay here with me?"

"Okay," he answered too quickly.

"Are you still scared?" She already knew the answer from the way he was staring at her.

"I guess so."

"So am I," she said. "I don't want to be alone." She rolled closer to the wall to make room for Casey to lie down next to her, and they lay there on their sides, facing each other, for a long time. It felt good, just lying there not having to worry about defending herself from aliens or from the boy lying next to her. Not like being in bed with Stan and having to bat away his hands, always trying to make their way under her skirt or her shirt. He wouldn't actually go through with anything if she said no, but it was tiring when she wasn't in the mood.

Right now she wasn't sure whether she was in the mood or not. Mostly she just wanted to rest, but she also wanted contact, if only just a little. She laid her hand on Casey's hip, hooked two fingers in the belt loop of his jeans, and closed her eyes. A little while later she felt his hand on her side, his touch so light and tentative she might not even have noticed if she hadn't been so focused on being _there_, being herself, being in control and aware of every inch of her body. She kept her eyes closed, afraid that if she looked at him he'd startle and draw away, and she breathed deep, felt her ribs rise and fall under Casey's hand, settling heavier as the minutes passed and they relaxed into each other.

Delilah was just starting to doze off when she felt his hand move again and realized she wanted it to keep moving. She opened her eyes, kept her gaze on his and her hand on his hip, and used her other hand to lift up her shirt. Casey looked at her and she nodded, giving him permission to move, to caress her bare skin, to undo her bra strap. He tried and failed to undo the hook with one hand and they both had to turn and shift so he could get his arms around her. When it came loose she was straddling his hips, leaning over him, supporting herself on hands and knees on both sides of him, and it was the easiest thing in the world to lean closer and kiss him on the mouth.

Casey opened, following her lead, his tongue eager if uncertain, hers as restless and dissatisfied as the rest of her as she pressed her chest closer to let him know she liked the touch of his hand on her breast, never mind his clumsiness. If it had happened two days ago she'd be teasing him, _Haven't you ever touched a girl's tits before, Casey?_ But none of this would have happened two days ago. They weren't the same people now.

She could feel his hard-on against the hollow of her hip through the layers of clothing, though she thought he might be trying to angle it away, as if he could keep her from noticing.

Casey brought up one hand and very gently touched her jaw, brought it away to break the kiss. Without thinking she rolled her hips against him to make up for the loss of contact, so the hardness of her pubic bone pressed against the hardness of his erection, and Casey rocked back and made a little squeak before he could make words again. "Are we...?"

"I don't know," she answered quickly, and she kissed him again so he wouldn't ask any more questions.

She shifted her weight to get a better balance and, without breaking this kiss or the touch of his hands on her, she reached one hand in between them and pressed the heel of it down against the bulge in his jeans. He snapped his hips up against her and for a second his hand squeezed her breast so hard she almost screamed into his mouth. She eased the pressure and stilled her hips, kissed the side of his mouth and then spoke low, doing her best to sound kind and not bitchy. "We don't want your parents to hear."

"I know," said Casey.

She cupped the bulge of his dick in her hand without pressing or squeezing this time. "Is this okay?" she asked.

Casey nodded frantically – probably trying to keep his hips still, she thought, and that energy had to go somewhere. "Yeah. It's, um. I haven't done this before."

Delilah nodded. "I have."

"I have a condom, uh, in the drawer. I can –"

_A_ condom. Probably the one they gave them in health class two years ago. The revelations kept having the same effect: if she'd heard this a few days ago it would have sounded pathetic, laughable, but now it seemed incredibly sweet, gave her a stronger desire to kiss him and make him happy.

"It's okay," she said, shifting again to kneel back, calves on the bed, ass on top of Casey's thighs. "You're not gonna fuck me."

Casey's head jerked back and to the side as he looked away. Turned on at the idea of fucking her, she wondered, or relieved he didn't have to? Whatever, she liked the look of his bare neck, his bulging Adam's apple. It made her feel like grabbing his dick, skin on skin this time, so she did, deftly undoing the fly of his jeans and reaching through the front of his boxers to grip it, hard and tight.

Casey made a choking sound.

"What's the problem?" she demanded, giving him a quick pull. She kind of felt like exploring more tentatively, but something told her he'd want a strong hand. And Delilah could be strong, she was good at that.

"Can't," he gasped, fisting his hands in the sheets, still trying not to thrust so high off the bed.

"Yeah, you can, if you'll just let yourself. You're gonna spill any minute."

"That's – gonna – not supposed to –"

"Yeah, you are." She sat up a little and pressed down on his hip with her other hand to improve her leverage, and then set up a steady rhythm of quick, harsh tugs, punctuating them with her words – "This isn't the part where you hold _back_. This is the part where I _want_ you to come in my hand and I _tell_ you to come in my hand, and then you _do_ it. You _come_, Casey, you –"

It came out with a little cry, with a movement that went all the way through his body but was most violent where she held him, not a series of quick pulses like Stan but a long, arrhythmic shudder, almost a coming apart. And all the time Delilah watched his face rather than anything else, all the time his eyes were locked on hers until the moment he broke, and the way his face came undone was fascinating and beautiful and grotesque and, yes, pathetic, all at the same time.

The moment of fascination passed quickly enough for her and she started noticing practical matters again, pleased to see that the spunk had splashed on his belly and his clothes but not hers. She wiped her hand on the bed sheet. Well, let him explain it to his mom or do the laundry himself – it wasn't her fault guys were so goddamn messy.

Delilah thought of rolling over on her back, but she decided she liked the view from here, even with the strain in her thighs. She moved away for a minute to stretch her legs and slip off her panties and then settled back over him. She was a little disappointed that he'd tucked his spent cock back inside his boxers, but she could still see his face and that looked just as naked and arousing as anything below his waist could.

Casey's head was turned to the side again and his mouth hung open as the air rushed in and out. His eyes were slitted and his face gleamed with a thin layer of sweat. She wondered if he was aware of her presence at all. He licked his lips and Delilah imagined the taste of salt; she licked two fingers of her right hand and tasted the lingering sourness that hadn't come off on the sheets.

Delilah rocked herself a couple times against Casey's leg. Her skirt kept it hidden from view but the rough denim rubbed directly against her cunt and it didn't feel half bad. Casey had strong, firm muscles, she thought. He just needed more practice putting them to good use. She could help him with that, later on maybe, but for now she was enjoying the sight of him just like this – spread out limp and unfocussed.

She kept rocking and started fingering herself under her skirt, and she hadn't even noticed that she'd closed her eyes on the image of Casey drifting until suddenly his hand touched hers and she realized he'd pulled away her skirt, and he was staring at her again with his eyes wide open, darting between her face and their hands touching. Delilah froze and stared back for a few seconds and then decided, "Okay," and changed the grip so she held the back of his hand and could guide his fingers.

At first she didn't think it would be much different than doing it for herself. She used his hand almost like an extension of her own, got the fingertips wet and then rubbed them smooth and steady back up to her clit. Ah, but it was already different, better when she had this face watching her and when the hand was his, and after a minute he'd picked up on what she wanted well enough to move on his own and she let him, let go of his hand and let go of the smirk on her face without letting go of the feeling of control.

Not everything was perfect or what she would have done, but all of it was good, and it didn't take long. She felt it in a bright sharp rush of red, like closing your eyes against the summer sun, flashing painful and then gone. And then she really did let go, since her legs wouldn't hold her anymore. She slumped on top of him and, since he was bony and uncomfortable, rolled over on the bed, and lay on her back and breathed while the blood kept pumping and slowly spread back out till she was a whole person again, not just a tiny bundle of nerves.

She was comfortable then, but she realized she probably shouldn't fall asleep, not just like that.

"Can I use your shower?"

When she got back he'd changed the sheets. Good boy.

"Did you want to stay over?"

"If that's okay with your folks."

"Yeah. It's good."

He was right about that. And she was right before when she said they needed to get some sleep. She lay down again while he went to shower, and even though she knew the photographs were still staring at her it didn't seem creepy anymore, it just felt right. She could get used to staying here, she thought. This didn't need to be the last time.

She was drifting off by the time he got back. She was afraid he'd ask for permission to lie down with her but instead he just came, settled in close – facing her, though she kept her eyes closed – and put his arm around her, more confident this time, more comforting. "Thank you," Delilah breathed, and she fell asleep.


End file.
